Sometimes, I wish I could be blunt. Layers upon layers, all of them me, but disjointed. Put them together, and there is a moment of enlightenment. Turn away, and again they don’t make sense.
Forward and back, left and right. When will this dance stop? Treading in between truth and lies, waiting for the right moment. Hoping it is enough, knowing it is not.
In front of me, ignorance. Behind, so much more. In the distance, barely seeing the light. And with each step I take, it seems to move further. But when I look back, murky waters I can’t return to.
Again and again and again and again, they say, the process never ends, the gut wrenching paralysis doesn’t go away. But it does get easier. Maybe.
It’s the same for everyone, they say, but depends on the individual circumstance. Similar, but different. Experiences which bind. Creates a culture of its own. A set of rules, unwritten, although some try to code the inexplicable. A form of mentoring, based not on numerical age, but experiential. Infants at 50? Why not?
Empathy through rose-coloured lenses. Supporting and understanding. But never in the same world. It goes both ways, yet socialization makes it easier for some but not others.
I’m tired.
Isolation, is not good for me.
One line, from an old old song, emerges. But to break from the mould…
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